We were made for this
by a starr in photo
Summary: This is the story of a boy and a girl. This isn't a story of boy meets girl. This boy knows this girl already. This is the story of their struggle. This is the story of their failures and their triumphs. This is a story of boy loves girl. Booth/Brennan


It had been two weeks three days seven hours eleven minutes and twelve seconds since Temperance Brennan left Crash Nightclub with a tall man with dark hair. His skin was dark and smooth, and ridged eyebrows framed his dark eyes. As Brennan was leaving, Angela Montenegro was dancing with Wendell Bray, and Jack Hodgins was watching the two with narrowed eyes. Cam Sayoran was giggling over a tequila sunrise, talking to Lance Sweets. Seeley Booth was in his apartment, playing tiger, with Parker Booth.

It had been two weeks three days eight hours forty three minutes and nine seconds since the tall man with dark hair and eyes and skin had slipped Rohypnol into her drink. It was only moments later that Brennan brought the glass to her lips, and after just a few more moments, the effects began to show.

It had been two weeks one day eighteen hours fifty six minutes and forty nine seconds since Temperance Brennan recalled the blurry events of that night. And after that psychological breakthrough, she curled up in her queen sized bed, tucked under the elegant comforter, letting petite sobs wrack her thin frame.

It had been one week six days twenty two hours thirty two minutes and nineteen seconds since she decided with a firm conviction that nobody, not Angela and not Booth especially, would ever know about what had happened days ago. Nobody needed to know how easily she had been defeated, how weak she had been, how she couldn't say no, even though she had wanted to. And it was six hours after that, when she got a phone call.

* * *

"Brennan," She spoke into her cellphone, her head held high and firm, eyes shining with determination.

"Hey, Bones, we have a case, I'll pick you up in fifteen minutes, okay?" It was early. And Booth knew very well that she wasn't ready for work, she hadn't even been awake. The FBI agent could tell that much at least, evident by the heavy tone her voice held, clearly still half asleep.

She nodded first, seeming to forget that he couldn't see her, but followed it up with an "Alright, I'll be ready." And hung up the phone. Brennan's blue eyes glanced over at the neon glow of her digital alarm clock, and groaned, it was early. She tossed the plush comforter to the other side of her bed, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Nearly as soon as she lifted herself off the mattress, a wave a nausea struck her, and Brennan raced to the bathroom, only to up-heave the meager contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. Coughing still, she flushed the toilet, and stood up, her knees still shaking as she gripped the rim of the sink. Glancing in the mirror, the educated woman couldn't help but grimace at her appearance. Her eyes were hallow and gaunt, her skin pale and clammy. With a sigh, she splashed cool water on her face and brushed her teeth a good four times to rid her mouth of the taste of bile before she began to get ready.

* * *

"Are you sure you're okay, Bones? You don't look so good," Booth asked, a worried undertone to his voice as the infamous duo stepped out of the black SUV. Brennan had been silent nearly the entire ride, which was not just unusual, but near impossible, as Booth had even made his usual dig about love, trying to get a rise out of her.

"I'm fine," Bones replied irritatedly, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she walked towards the crime scene, pulling blue latex gloves over her hands. Anybody, not just Booth, could see that she wasn't. She walked over to the rotting corpse, more than ready to dig in. One good whiff of the stench of decomposition, and Brennan was hightailing it away from the body, a hand on her mouth and her skin completely blanched.

"Bones!" Booth shouted, jogging after her. By the time he got there, she had already sunk to her knees and was re-emptying the contents of her stomach, which was mostly bile, having failed to eat anything that morning. "You are not fine," he scowled, but gently pulled the loose stands of hair away from her face as she continued to dry heave.

"Really," she coughed, sitting back on her haunches, "Booth, I'm fi-" Booth couldn't get the words out fast enough, "Do not even finish that sentence, you are not fine. I'll have the FBI forensic team bag everything and send it to the Jefferson, you are coming with me, I'm taking you to the doctors." He rubbed her back gently in soothing circles. "This isn't fine."

Far too out of it to respond, Bones simply nodded and stood up, her knees wobbling as she clutched at Booth's arm. He wrapped an arm around her waist, offering support silently. They made their way to the SUV. It was going to be a long ride to the doctor's office.

* * *

"Miss Brennan? The doctor will see you know," a nurse spoke, her pink scrubs rumpling as she directed the forensic anthropologist into the examination room. Booth glanced sideways at Brennan, slightly unnerved that she made no motion to correct the nurse. They stood up in synch and Booth made to help her back into the room.

"It's okay Booth, I can see the doctor on my own." Her voice was tired, nearly weak, and it startled the FBI agent so much, that he just sat back down, completely obedient. She kept walking, closing the door behind her.

"What just happened?" Booth muttered to himself, head in hands.

"My partner insisted I visit you, but I can deduce what the problem is well enough myself." Brennan explained in response to Doctor Shepherd. "You're going to want to run a blood test, but I know myself. I'm pregnant."

AN: Review please, lovelies. Tell Me if I should Continue


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